


Colours

by sapphire2309



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Non-graphic depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire2309/pseuds/sapphire2309
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara tries art therapy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Post anklet, slightly AU  
> Written for the prompt "Therapy" on my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/)**hc_bingo** card.

Neal dabbed the brush into dark emerald paint that Sara pointed out with a crimson fingernail, trying not to look into her eyes. He stuck the brush in between her thumb and pointer and curled her fingers around it.

“There you go. You’ve got a brush and a blank canvas. Now all you have to do is move your hand.”

Sara made an odd, jerky motion with her hand that sent the brush flying towards Neal’s last unblemished undershirt.

In a move that defied gravity, Neal caught the brush before it hit him. He was about to put it back in Sara’s hand when she whispered, “Sorry.”

Neal put down the brush and held her face in his hands. He said to her nose, “You don’t ever need to apologize.”

She tried to turn away.

Neal took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes.

He used to love looking into her eyes, lying next to her and staring deep into them till he could see every fleck of colour. He’d painted them so many times, with so many expressions, under a maroon scarf, improbably reflecting a green and blue landscape, even by themselves, hazel and chestnut and just a touch of golden.

Now he could barely stand glimpsing them out of the corner of his eye.

He didn’t hate the scars along her arms or the barely visible scratch that went down the length of her neck as much as he hated her blank, empty, dead, beautiful eyes.

He looked straight into them because it was the only way he could get her to listen.

“Don’t ever apologize for what happened to you. Don’t you dare.” Briefly, he looked up as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, okay? That’s all that matters.”

Sara nodded as though she didn’t quite believe him.

He put the brush back in her hand and moved out of the way of the canvas.

“I won’t judge,” he promised as he pushed the palette away to make place for himself.

She moved her hand carefully, brush wavering with every jerking motion. When it finally reached the canvas, the paintbrush danced across the expanse.

Dots and lines and blobs of emerald became a faceless man, tall and dark and not very handsome at all. Grey and silver became a knife, black, her baton. In white and the palest of greys, blending into the canvas, herself.

In red, blood.

Down white arms and a defiantly arched neck and cheeks with the faintest touch of pink, red blood.

She dropped the brush and looked at him and for the first time in weeks of hospital and therapy and nothing, her eyes weren’t blank, empty, dead. For the first time since that dark blue night, there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks and she threw hersef into Neal’s arms and stayed there till the shaking and tears were gone.

“Neal?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” For the first time since that dark blue night.

He smiled at her hair and held her closer.

She pushed herself away and slowly, tenderly, placed a kiss on his lips.

He caught a glimpse of her hesitant, shy, beautiful eyes.

He didn’t flinch.  



End file.
